


intertwined and running blind (but I don't mind)

by Meridas



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Battle Couple, Cons and Shenanigans, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Frumpkin ships it, Mutual Pining, Other, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: “Isn’t it still sort of cheating if we’re not actually married?” Molly asks. His voice trips over the word married. Caleb twitches visibly.In order to seize a rare magical artifact, the Mighty Nein come up with a plan: not a heist, but a con. While the rest of their friends sneak around for an opportunity, Caleb and Molly throw their hat in the ring to win it legitimately... in a tournament open to couples.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 25
Kudos: 348
Collections: Widomauk Winter Gift Exchange 2020





	intertwined and running blind (but I don't mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarshmallowPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowPanda/gifts).



> My gift for Panda as part of the widomauk winter gift exchange! I hope you like it <3

When Jester tells them it’s her best idea yet, Molly should have known to expect the worst. 

“It’s the _best_ way to win, and it’s not even cheating!” she insists, visibly pleased with herself. 

Molly’s trying very hard not to look at Caleb, who is still staring down at the ring Jester handed him not but a moment ago. Molly has a near-matching one growing warm in his own palm. 

“Isn’t it still sort of cheating if we’re not _actually_ married?” he asks. His voice trips over the word _married_. Caleb twitches visibly. 

“That’s why the spell is so good, though,” Jester says confidently. “Because that way you _are_ really married, by me! And by the Traveler, and he’s not even illegal here so it’s all totally cool! And after seven days are over the cool parts of the spell will wear off anyway, and by then the competition will be over and you guys will _win_ , and you can just sell the rings again and we’ll make even _more_ money back! It’s perfect!” 

“Well, when you put it like that, what could possibly go wrong?” Molly asks sarcastically. He wraps his own tail around his ankle so that it won’t give away how quickly his heart has started beating. 

“It isn’t the worst idea we have ever enacted,” Caleb says, abruptly joining the conversation. He seems to shake himself, straightening his shoulders and coming out of his own head. 

“What happened to Plan A, just _steal_ the priceless artifact of blessings and good luck and then be on our way?” Molly asks desperately. 

Jester puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. “Why don’t you like my plan, Molly? I thought you liked a con and you said I was good at them!”

“Getting this thing through the official channels is gonna be way easier than trying a heist,” Beau adds, crossing her arms. “And it’s not gonna be hard, come on, it’s you two up against a bunch of lame villagers and shit? No problem.”

Molly levels his finger at Beau. “You talked your way out of being the one to go in on this, didn’t you.”

“Hey, _I’m_ definitely not going to kiss Caleb, even for show,” Beau replies smugly. “It’s your turn to Traci it up, Tealeaf.”

“I think I would be offended if I were not also very opposed to that,” Caleb mutters. Molly’s ears perk up. _Does he mean—?_

He pinches himself. _No hopes up. This is just a con._

“Beau is going to be busy, too!” Jester says. "We all are! Fjord is going to give you guys lots of points because he'll be disguised as one of the judges, who Beau and Deuces are going to kidnap but only for a little bit, and very nicely. Nott and I are the best detectives of the group, so we are going to spy on people and Message you some help about your competition, or if we see a chance to steal the thing we’re going to just take it right there! And Yasha’s going to go with you, because most of the people in the competition are like a little bit fancy and they have bodyguards and people to do stuff for them, so she’s going to go and look scary in case anybody tries to fuck with you like how me and Nott are probably going to fuck with them. Okay?”

She claps her hands together. “Sound good?” 

Molly can’t come up with anything in that moment to refute her. And that’s how he finds himself standing in front of Caleb Widogast, trying not to show his absolute confusion as he puts a ring on his finger.

* * *

The first day of the festival dawns far too early and fast-paced for Molly’s liking. They hardly have time to get the lay of the land before the inaugural event; normally the ribbons and market stalls of a festival would be calling to Molly like a beacon. Normally, though, he isn’t walking through town with Caleb Widogast holding his hand. It’s incredibly distracting. 

“You’re already all signed up,” Jester assures them, ushering them breathlessly toward the town square. “And I forged your papers real good, so all you’ve got to do is don’t, like, fall on your face! You’re going to be great!” 

“What am I not falling on my face in, again?” Molly hisses back. He catches the sounds of cheering up ahead, and perks up. “Is there going to be dancing? Always a good time, dancing.”

“You’ll have fun!” he hears Jester’s voice, but when he turns his head she’s no longer there. A pretty elven woman winks at him, puts one finger to her lips, and vanishes into the crowd.

The town square is a thriving mess of color and sound up ahead. He can hear some kind of speech going on, no doubt welcoming the participants from all over to join the annual Tournament of Lovers. It’s a name that sounds right out of one of the tall tales Gustav would sell to an audience, or a more ribald story like the ones Beau has gleefully read aloud to them on slow days. Ordinarily Molly would advocate that they all watch and heckle, take bets and enjoy the small delights of a festival, and help Nott find the grumpier people lording themselves over the rest of the crowd. Sadly for his usual proclivities, the tournament’s grand prize this year is far more valuable and magical than the local lord knows. 

Honestly, the only hitch in this plan is the one nobody else knows about—namely, the fact that he’s been pretty hopelessly in love with Caleb for months now, and for the next week he’s going to have to be _married_ to him. While convincing onlookers and strangers that his feelings are deeply real. While hoping that Caleb _doesn’t_ notice that Molly’s feelings are, in truth, deeply real.

Gods, he hopes there’s wine after this. 

A sharp squeeze of his hand yanks his mind back to the present. “Mollymauk,” Caleb whispers, “is there anything you can do that will give us an edge here?” 

“An—” Glancing around, Molly notices the other couples being pulled apart by the festival attendants, drawn to opposite sides of the square and given blindfolds. The locals in the crowd begin to cheer, obviously aware of a traditional game about to happen. It looks almost like a dance, Molly realizes—but like everything they’ve just signed up for, it’s also a challenge. “Um, I don’t have any weird senses that help me track _wizards_ while blindfolded, not really.” 

"Oh, dear, well." Caleb rubs his free hand over his chin, rasping against the late-day stubble coming in. Molly tries not to stare. Instead he wrenches his gaze to the organizers, who are getting closer with those blindfolds. He’s reasonably confident in his own ability not to fall on his ass once he’s let loose in the crowd, but if this is supposed to show off his ability to pick his _spouse_ out of a crowd by touch alone— 

“Don’t worry,” he hears, Caleb’s breath warm against his ear, “I’ll find you.” 

And then he’s whisked away, catching one last dizzying glimpse of color and light in the square before a blindfold covers his eyes. Before he can try to get his bearings like this, he's spun around in a circle and shoved forward into the crowd. 

He has to hand it to them, it must be a very funny spectacle from the outside. It’s the strangest kind of dance he’s ever been party to, but there’s a kind of rhythm to it, after all. The key to it, as with so many things as Molly’s found in his life, is to throw himself headlong into the swing of it and let it take him along.

He moves forward, letting himself be buffeted and swung around and handed off by strangers’ hands, moving through the current of other people’s voices and the lively song of the crowd above it all. Caleb will find him. Molly trusts him. He pushes off another person in the crowd—stiff velvet waistcoat that wouldn’t belong to Caleb in a hundred years—reaching out into nothing. He keeps his tail wound safely around his leg, his hands outstretched and waiting for— 

“Mollymauk,” he hears, and then a pair of hands catches his and laces their fingers tight. Familiar hands, with long fingers and odd scars and callouses, with bitten fingernails and dry, warm skin. 

“Caleb,” he replies, squeezing tight. He feels a tug as Caleb lifts one of their clasped hands above their heads, above the crowd, and a single trumpet note blows. 

Grinning, Molly pulls his blindfold off. Caleb blinks rapidly a few times, the way he does after using his Frumpkin-vision—must be a similar feeling to getting your sight back in a bright and crowded square. He looks around, and Molly realizes that the two of them are being acknowledged and looked at. _Act married_ , he thinks— _ask him to dip you_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully—so he lifts their joined hands up to his lips and presses a kiss to Caleb’s fingers.

“That was marvelously done, love,” he says, and Caleb sputters a little bit before he regains his composure. 

“I would know you anywhere, _schatz_ ,” he replies, reaching up to gently flick one of Molly’s jingly horn charms. Molly grins at him while he squeezes his tail around his own leg in a stranglehold. He doesn’t know what Caleb called him, but it sounded unbearably fond and unfairly attractive in his native tongue. Part of him wants to encourage Caleb to speak more Zemnian. Another part of him knows that he simply won’t survive this escapade if Caleb does so. 

They’re swept up in the flurry of tournament activity, riding high on their first success of the week as they’re ushered along toward the evening’s feast. Through the revelry and colorful presentation of their competitors, Molly spots Yasha’s stoic and monochromatic form. He gives her a grateful smile when she catches his eye, and her business face softens at him for just a moment. Then she’s back to looking over the crowd, her lips occasionally moving a little as she mumbles responses to Nott or Jester. 

Molly hopes that nothing will go wrong and disrupt this tournament, unless of course Jester and Nott decide to disrupt it by stealing the prize and high-tailing it out of town. But he’s well aware that these sorts of events can draw an unsavory element, and one that might not be willing to play as nicely as the Mighty Nein. If that’s the case, he’s glad that Yasha is watching their backs. 

As the food and wine continues to make the rounds, Molly leans into Caleb’s side. “How did you actually find me?” he murmurs, low enough to stay between the two of them. “I know I don’t jangle _that_ much…”

Caleb looks caught somewhere between proud and chagrined. “I sent Frumpkin to sit on Yasha’s shoulder,” he admits. “She is very tall, after all, and you do stand out quite a bit, so through his eyes I could see you in the crowd.” He rubs his temple. “It did give me a bit of a headache, watching myself and navigating toward you while also watching you—”

Molly sees a few people in the crowd looking their way, and spots an opportunity. Winding his fingers through Caleb’s again, he leans in and presses his lips to the spot Caleb was rubbing a moment ago. “Very clever, Mister Caleb,” he says, pulling a warm smile to his face without really needing an ounce of deception. “Now pass me a bite of that funny orange fruit there, I want to try everything at this table.” 

Caleb’s eyes dart to him, then toward the bits of fruit on his own plate. Instead of reaching for a new piece for Molly, he picks up a small cube in his fingers, and before Molly can process what’s happening Caleb is holding it up to his lips with a perfectly serene look on his face. Molly can feel the tips of his ears go very hot. He leans in and takes it delicately from Caleb’s fingers, barely letting his lips brush against his skin. He can feel his own heartbeat against his ribs, can only hope that he’s not blushing so much he’s becoming a beacon in the middle of the festival. 

The fruit is alright, faintly sweet and pleasantly crisp. Caleb licks a stray drop of juice from his thumb as he turns back to his own plate. Molly swallows down an undignified squeak and nearly chokes on his fruit. 

Finally, blessedly before he can make an absolute fool of himself or get them found out, dinner winds down to an end. Yasha’s face is carefully stoic as she collects them and leads them up to the rooms they’ll be staying in, but her eyes are twinkling at Molly in the way that means she’s loving his misery. He fights the urge to stick his tongue out at her and settles for bumping into her shoulder instead. 

“Here’s your room,” Yasha tells them, stopping in front of a door and handing Molly a key. “I’ll be right next door if you need me, or if, you know, anyone tries to come kill you in the night.”

“I should hope that doesn’t happen,” Molly hears, but he’s mostly preoccupied by his brain screeching to a halt looking at the single key in his hand. _Oh gods, of course_. He and Caleb are supposed to be _married_. What kind of fool is he, to only just now realize that behind this one single door is just one single _bed?_

Jester owes him so many drinks if he manages to get through this without dying over his repressed feelings. Gods, she’s wily and bullheaded in equal measures for getting him into this. The Traveler probably hands out awards.

“Mollymauk?” 

“Hm? Oh, yes, yeah—goodnight, Yasha dear, don’t let the assassins bite—” he pats her on the arm as if nothing is wrong with him at all, and turns the key in their door as quickly as he can to hide the shaking in his hands. 

Inside is on the nicer end of basic accommodations, with a small desk, a washbasin, and a bed large enough for two humanoids to get reasonably cozy with each other. Molly almost shuts the door on his own damn tail.

He takes a deep breath. _Just a con. You can get through a con, Tealeaf._ Just one of his rings feels heavier than the rest, but it’s just like any part of a job. He needs to relax, or Caleb is going to figure him out—or worse, someone running the tournament will find them out instead. He busies himself with unpacking a few of his meager belongings, slowly forcing his muscles to relax. His poor tail is stiff with how tightly he’s been keeping it curled around his leg all day, but he knows it gives away his emotions like a damn flag if he lets it loose. 

The calming draw of his cards is really what he needs to settle down. He puts his pencil between his teeth, flops down across the bed, and begins to flip through them for a good place to pick up. 

And from that point it’s kind of… nice, actually. For all that Molly’s been quietly falling in love with Caleb over the past half a year, the two of them don’t spend a lot of time alone together. The Mighty Nein tend to travel in a pack, after all—but it’s nice. Caleb exudes a comfortable kind of quiet when he settles in with his books, something that reminds Molly of Yasha in a way. They both feel like a sort of _solid_ presence when they find quiet moments, like a safe place to rest. 

They spend the better part of the evening in the quiet. It’s nice to have proper lamplight to work through the evening, adding color to some of his cards instead of just sketching with his colorblind darkvision on the road. Once in a while Caleb will start muttering out loud, and trail off again in a few minutes. Molly’s not even sure if it’s Zemnian or some arcane language he’s speaking in, but it sounds nice. 

Then Caleb speaks up in Common, catching Molly’s attention immediately. “We should get to know each other a bit better, don’t you think?” Caleb even puts his book down, which is already more emotional investment than Molly is prepared for. He shuffles his cards again for something to do with his hands, something to look at aside from Caleb’s handsome, clean-shaven face. 

“I would have thought we’d know each other pretty well by now,” he says lightly, “you know, given that we’re married.”

He winks at Caleb, but it doesn’t have any of the usual effects. This time Caleb doesn’t turn back to his book and push the corner of his mouth down as if he isn’t actually smiling at Molly’s dreadfully charming antics. He does get a little pink, which reminds Molly that although he liked Caleb’s beard quite a lot, it’s easier to see him blush without it. 

“Really, though, Caleb,” he adds, “I’d like to think we’re friends, aren’t we? We’ve traveled together a decently long time, now. We’ve been through a lot of stuff that most people never do, and stuck together.”

“ _Ja_ , as… well, as a team, sure.” Caleb rubs the back of his neck as if he’s embarrassed. “I just—sometimes I wonder, you know, if I—if there is more to know about you.” 

“Oh, much more, I’d assume,” Molly says breezily. “But, well, there’s plenty about me that _I_ don’t know, so what’s the rush to learn it all.” 

“Oh.” Caleb looks down at his books. “That is true. I thought…” 

“Caleb,” Molly says gently, “what’s this really about?” 

Caleb runs his fingers along the spine of the book, over and over. “I would also like to think we are friends,” he says quietly. “This group is… much better than anything I have had in a long time. And you and I—well, I have been thinking lately. And I don’t want you to feel as though you are here with me, when you would rather be here with any of our other friends as your partner, instead.”

“I think you’re a great partner to have here,” Molly protests. “Let’s be honest, I’m never going to remember the names of any of those people we met tonight, and you’re honestly so much better at a lot of these social things than you let on.”

Caleb snorts a little. “ _Ja_ , well I, ah… well, many of the things I know now, I learned through means I am not so proud of these days.”

“Don’t care,” Molly says automatically, shuffling his cards again. 

He can feel Caleb’s bright eyes on him. “You know, you say that an awful lot for someone who cares very much.”

His fingers slip, almost letting the cards tumble from his grasp. “What’s that supposed to mean? That’s one of the few things I’ve told the truth about, I’ll have you know.”

“I don’t mean about—our pasts, the shitty things people have done,” Caleb amends. “I believe you. I find it… hard to wrap my head around, sometimes, but I do believe you.”

Molly gives him a little half-bow from his lounging position. 

“I mean, you say that you don’t care very often,” he continues, “for someone who cares about _people_ as much as you do. I just mean—you do care, very much, most of the time.” His gaze drops away, back down to his lap. “I, ah, I find it admirable, truth be told.” 

Molly taps his cards back into place. Maybe Caleb won’t be able to tell that he’s blushing. “You learn a lot from a carnival,” he says, aiming for light and breezy. “And the first thing you learn is how people take care of each other. That’s the important stuff, not what anybody did to survive before I knew them.”

“As I said,” Caleb says softly, “I find it admirable.”

“Um.” Molly looks down at the cards in his hands. One of his half-sketched cards has ended up on top: something like Temperance, a reverse he hasn’t decided on yet. Something he’s been working on recently, while he tries to figure out if there might be a good time to tell Caleb how he feels. There’s a delicate balance to be had, he’s sure of it—something that won’t pressure his favorite skittish wizard, that makes the depths of Molly’s feelings apparent while assuring Caleb that he doesn’t need or even expect any kind of reciprocation. 

Molly’s pretty terrible at metaphorical balancing acts. He’s much better at real handstands, so he hasn’t made much headway on his problem.

“Thank you, Mister Caleb,” he lands on finally. He puts his cards away for now, and folds his fingers together under his chin. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s each tell each other one thing tonight, and maybe we can make it an ongoing thing, hm? And tonight,” he adds before Caleb says anything, “is one _good_ thing. One good or interesting thing about you that I don’t know yet, how does that sound?” 

Caleb is quiet for a long moment, looking down at the cover of his book. Molly keeps his mouth shut, waiting patiently to see if Caleb will want to go through with it or not. Then, just when he’s begun to think Caleb won’t play the game with him, he speaks up. “I can make bread,” he says softly, still gazing down. “Ah… I’m not sure if I would still be any good, necessarily, but I remember how. It—I was once good at it, in childhood. I think I could be, still.” 

Molly’s tail swishes happily in the air behind him. “That sounds like fun,” he says quietly, smiling gently when Caleb looks up at him. “We should give it a try sometime, if you’d like that. I’ve never made bread before.” He rolls over, sprawling out on the bed and gazing at Caleb upside-down. 

Caleb clears his throat. “What’s one thing of the many interesting things I don’t know about you, then?” he asks. 

“Hm…” Molly almost gives him a quick, glib answer like he normally would. But he pauses. There’s a painful kind of honesty in what Caleb seems to want, but it might not be a bad thing even if Molly’s habit is to veer hard away from truths. Maybe he could stand to take a little bit on faith. 

It’s _Caleb_ , after all. 

“I got my name from a poem,” he says finally, the words feeling oddly soft on his tongue. He’s never told anyone but Yasha about this before. “One of Desmond’s epics, a pretty silly thing to be honest. I don’t really remember the story, but I remember how I liked the sound of the name when he said it. This was back when they didn’t have anything to call me but MT, and it sort of fit. It felt like it fit, at least, and I liked it better than being called _empty_ when I was just starting to feel… real, I guess. It fit me.” 

He rolls back over. Caleb’s deep blue gaze suddenly feels like a physical pressure, not necessarily uncomfortable but not something Molly’s used to. It makes him want to shiver, or reach out and touch so that Caleb doesn’t feel quite so far away. But he fights down both impulses, and instead casts his gaze around for their luggage. “Um. Probably best to get a good night’s sleep, Mister Caleb. No idea what we’re in for tomorrow, after all.” 

“ _Ja_.” Caleb’s voice is unfairly soft. “Good night, then, Mollymauk.”

After the lights go out, Molly rolls himself tightly in blankets and curls up on one side of the bed. The mattress dips when Caleb settles himself gingerly on the other side, with plenty of room between them. Then, it dips again in a path of tiny footsteps as Frumpkin picks his way up the bed and settles down into a quietly purring lump. 

Molly closes his eyes and listens to the soft, deep sound of Caleb’s breathing and the uneven purring of a fey cat. It takes longer than he’ll admit to fall asleep.

* * *

In the morning Molly wakes up slowly, unwilling to open his eyes fully. He’s very warm and comfortable, and he’s pretty sure he’s awake before he has to be. Maybe he should smuggle one of these pillows with him when they go, they’re very nice and the lord of the manor can certainly afford it. He’s also curled up against Yasha, the soft rise and fall of her back almost lulling him back to sleep— 

His eyes fly open. Not Yasha. _Caleb_. 

He manages not to shove himself away instantly, and instead takes stock of the situation. He’s not flush against Caleb, just curled up with his knuckles brushing Caleb’s spine and his forehead tucked into the dip between his shoulder blades. At his back, Molly can feel two tiny but immovable paws and the occasional flick of a dreaming tail. 

“ _Frumpkin_ ,” he mutters under his breath. That little bastard— 

“Hm?” 

Molly freezes, and he feels the very moment and Caleb wakes up and freezes, too. He clears his throat. “Um. Frumpkin is. That is. Your cat takes up a lot of space, did you know that?” 

To his surprise, Caleb relaxes again. He even gives a raspy, sleepy chuckle as he lifts one arm to rub at his face. Molly’s ears and cheeks flush hot at the sweet sound. He instantly wants to hear it for the rest of his life. He pulls his blankets up over his face. 

“Cats do tend to do that. My apologies, Molly, I did not think to ask you if it was alright last night.” 

“It’s fine. He’s fine,” Molly says into his blanket fortress. Frumpkin’s paws dig into his back again. “ _Argh_ —he’s, you know, as long as you’re not—um, sorry I didn’t stay on my half, that is. I didn’t notice until I woke up.”

A loud knock at the door interrupts before Molly can swallow any other words. Frumpkin and Caleb both disappear from the bed, and Molly hears fabric rustling and footsteps dragging across the floor. “Yasha,” Caleb says, and Molly finally peeks out of his blankets to see her standing in the doorway. She casts an eyebrow over at him, to which he rolls himself tighter into his cocoon of blankets. 

“It’s going to be time for breakfast soon,” she says, “and also Jester talked to me last night, and she says that there’s something odd about two of the other guests. It’s probably fine, if they’re just, you know, cheating like we are. But also, they might be evil and try to kill you, and you never know, so just… keep an eye out?” There’s more shuffling noises. “Also, Caleb, Nott is hiding under my bed and she would like to talk to you this morning, before you have to go.”

“Oh… _ja_ , okay, let me just take a few things—I will be back in a bit, Mollymauk, and we can go downstairs together… to avoid any suspicion…” 

Molly sticks one arm out of his blanket bundle and gives a thumbs-up. More shuffling ensues, and then the soft _thud_ of a door closing. He pops his head up—just Yasha in the room now. With a groan, he lets his face fall back into the bedding.

“Yasha,” Molly mumbles into his pillow, “Yasha, this isn’t going to work. I can’t do this. I’m not gonna last and Caleb’s gonna hate me and it’s going to show and they’re going to throw us out and it’ll all have been for nothing.”

Yasha pats his blanket-lump on the butt. “Cheer up,” she says, “there’s good coffee with breakfast.”

Molly sighs and wiggles free of his blankets. “Always know what to say to make me feel better. That’s my charm.”

* * *

Time flies quicker than any of them expect, and the fourth day of the Tournament dawn bright and clear. Molly wakes up a little stiff from yesterday’s trial, in which he’d had to physically hold Caleb up for a bit longer than he’s really ever prepared for. Maybe he should consider doing some push-ups or something with Yasha when they’re done here. _Maybe_. 

He also wakes up with his tail snaked around Caleb’s ankle again, the traitorous thing. 

These few days in proximity to Caleb haven’t helped his… _condition_ in the slightest. Every time they’re in front of other people, they keep up the charade marvelously—so well that Molly almost believes it himself, sometimes. Caleb is an unnervingly good liar, as it turns out, and Molly’s heart isn’t nearly as clever as his head. It just _wants_ , and he’s given up on trying to stop it; better to feel something while it lasts than suppress it all.

Every time Caleb looks at him with soft eyes or kisses his fingers where their hands are entwined, Molly’s heart tries to leap into his hands. When they’re alone, and Caleb relaxes enough to play with Frumpkin and talk with Molly and even let out his stuttering little laugh, Molly’s heart feels like it would glow if it could. He’s hopeless, and he only hopes that Caleb hasn’t noticed. He doesn’t want things to be… well, a certain measure awkwardness is a given, but he doesn’t want walls to come back up between them. 

He tries to distract himself from too many thoughts about Caleb by overdoing a bit on his makeup for the day. It’s not very often he gets to dress up, and it gives him an excuse to huddle close to the vanity mirror and hum vaguely in Caleb’s direction when he gets up for the day. It’s frighteningly domestic, this getting ready in the morning thing. Without the rest of the Mighty Nein constantly underfoot, without the group of them all together or doing their separate activities, it’s too easy to fall into a pattern with just Caleb. Too easy to see how they would work together, in a real relationship. 

A thought strikes him just as he’s blotting today’s deep velvet-red lipstick. “Hey, Caleb, wait a minute.” Molly draws Caleb closer and waves the lipstick in front of him. 

Caleb makes a skeptical face. “Mollymauk, that looks very nice on you, but I’m not sure it matches my… ah, complexion.” 

Molly snorts, and shoves the little fluttery feelings he gets from Caleb’s compliment aside. “It’s not for you to wear, although I think you’re selling yourself short, Mister Caleb. No, it’s because a little smudge goes a long way when people see it.” He taps the corner of his own mouth pointedly. “Couldn’t hurt to remind everyone that you and your very attractive partner share a good-morning kiss before heading out to win tournaments together, right?” 

“Oh.” Caleb clears his throat. “Yes, um… that makes sense. That’s fine. _Ja_ , go ahead.”

Molly raises one eyebrow at Caleb and waits an extra beat, wondering if he’ll change his mind. Caleb stays right where he is, though, until Molly smudges a little dab of wine-red against his lip. He follows it with a quick swipe of his thumb, smearing most, but not all, of the lipstick away. “There,” he says, quickly taking his hand back. He concentrates on putting his makeup away properly in its little case, and definitely doesn’t think about the feeling of Caleb’s clean-shaven face against his hand. 

“Have you heard from Nott or Jester this morning?” he asks, filling the quiet. “Any word on the other couples, or whatever it is that Jester thinks will go wrong?”

“Not yet. I have a relatively new spell prepared today, though, and I hope it will be of some use in discovering what is bothering her.” Caleb turns and offers his arm to Molly. “Ready to go, Mister Mollymauk?” 

He slips his hand into the gentlemanly crook of Caleb’s elbow. “Mister Caleb, it would be my pleasure.”

Today, they meet up with their competitors on the wide green lawn behind the lord’s home. Molly looks around curiously, but he can’t see any hints as to their task—not even any painted lines or funny wickets that for the few high-society lawn games he knows about. He wonders what kind of oddly specific teamwork exercise he and Caleb will be asked to perform this time. 

Suddenly, Caleb seizes his arm, his fingers biting in deep. “Mollymauk,” he whispers, “we have a problem.” 

Molly glances at Caleb. His eyes are limned faintly in magic, seeing beyond what meets the eye. “What are they?” he mutters back. “Something we have to deal with sooner, or later?” As casually as he can, he lets one hand fall to the hilt of his sword. 

In perfect synchronicity, two heads in the group swivel around to stare directly at them. 

“Oh, fuck,” Molly says. 

They’re without their armor, dressed only in their fancy clothes and jewelry. Thank the Moonweaver that Molly’s been allowed to keep his swords at his hips outside the manor—there are others around with fancy rapiers and sabres at their belts, but by the looks on their faces, Molly may be the only one who knows how to use his. 

With the two creatures shifting in front of them, shedding their human disguises and taking on grotesque forms, it’ll have to do.

“Oh, _scheiße_ ,” Caleb mutters. Molly pulls his swords free, dragging them along his forearms before he even thinks about it. The transformed monstrosities hiss at the burst of radiant energy, swinging toward Molly and away from the crowd. 

Before he can leap forward, Caleb’s hand grabs his wrist. “Fucking ceremonial bullshit,” he hisses, looping a leather bracelet around Molly’s wrist with rapid hands. “Be _safe_ , Molly,” he says, and Molly catches a quick glimpse of wide blue eyes before Caleb pushes him around and steps back. 

A pulse of protective magic surrounds him as he lunges forward, and the first Doppelgänger’s fist comes within an inch of his skin before it bounces away on an arcane spark. He swings back, keeping the second creature in his peripherals while he circles and strikes with both swords.

One of them breaks away in a run toward Caleb. Molly gets one swipe out as is passes by him, scoring a deep red line down its side. Its partner slams into him in retaliation and he stumbles, but regains his footing on the slick grass. He can’t let it hurt Caleb, but he can’t disengage from this one. He has to end this _fast_ — 

"Mollymauk, _go!"_ he hears, and the world slows down around him as Caleb's Haste spell takes hold. He spins both his swords with a flourish, and throws himself at the Doppelgänger. 

Caleb’s magic thrums through his body. His fourth lightning-quick strike sends the creature down, and Molly spins back so quickly he almost overbalances. The dark gray corpse falls at his heels, but his concern now is the still-living creature advancing on his wizard. Caleb face is stern in concentration, his attention diverted as the Doppelgänger swings at his unprotected form and Molly doesn’t have time to step between them— 

Caleb’s ring flares with pale light, one vital burst that throws the creature’s aim wide. The second fist takes him in the face, and Caleb stumbles around the creature and flicks his hand. Molly shoots past Caleb as the creature staggers under three beads of force magic, and swings his scimitars viciously into its form. 

It’s over in less than a minute. Molly’s left panting as he stands over the two corpses for a few more seconds, just before the spell breaks and a wave of vertigo crashes over him. The world tilts abruptly, but before he has to steady himself there are warm hands that catch him before he can fall to the ground. He drops his forehead onto Caleb’s shoulder and closes his eyes until the nausea passes.

“He’s fine,” he hears. Caleb’s hand slides underneath his hair to cup the back of his neck, warm and steady. The world settles down again, no longer tilting wildly beneath his feet, but Molly stays where he is for a few extra moments, just breathing deeply. Caleb is a grounding presence, patiently letting Molly lean against him while he carries on reassuring the guards who are _finally_ arriving. No matter what running jokes they have as a team, or the truly nasty components in some of his pockets, Molly thinks he smells nice. 

“—be safe now,” Caleb is saying when Molly tunes back in. 

He straightens up, sadly dislodging Caleb’s hand from the back of his neck. Time to mourn that later, though. “These creatures usually work alone, in small groups if they have to,” he says, hoping as usual that he can pull off enough authority on the matter that no one asks him how he knows it. “Were these two—well, the two they were impersonating, anyway, were they from around here? Or out of town?” 

“They came into town for the tournament,” an aide says in a shaky voice. 

“Then that’ll be all of them, I suspect.” Molly sheathes his swords, snuffing out their eerie glow. He looks up at Caleb, turning away from the slow hysteria of the crowd. “You alright?” he asks quietly. 

Caleb doesn’t look much worse for wear this time. There’s one bruise blooming on his jaw, and his scarf has been torn free and trampled on the ground, but he looks reassuringly whole and healthy. “Quite alright,” he confirms. He lifts his hand and brushes the hair out of Molly’s face, tucking it back behind his horn. “You?”

Molly can’t help but smile at him. Feeling confident, he tilts his head into Caleb’s hand. “Nothing a quick nap couldn’t fix. Thank you, by the way.” He lets his tail curl around Caleb’s ankle, light but present. From the little smile Caleb gives him, he doesn’t mind after all.

* * *

The whole business with the artifact ends up resolved, too. As thanks for putting a quick and decisive end to the two Doppelgängers and protecting the lord and his other guests, Molly and Caleb are declared the winners of the Tournament of Lovers and swiftly given their reward. Privately, Molly thinks it’s probably also because the tournament was a bit ruined by the monsters’ sudden appearance, but none of the other contestants are arguing about it. In fact, they get quite the round of applause. Molly, ever the performer, gives their audience a deep and flourishing bow. Caleb shakes the right hands and gives Molly the fond smile of a long-suffering husband in love. 

All told, the eight of them are on the road out of town again before their week is halfway up. And now Molly’s left sitting on the back of a cart, swinging his legs and trying very hard not to fiddle with the ring on his fourth finger. 

He’s failing at it, but he’s trying. 

Their spell is still going strong for the next few days, according to what Jester told them when she cast it. If it were anyone else, Molly would put it out of his mind already and simply add the ring to his collection, or sell it later. But it's Caleb, and that complicates things. At least, it does for him.

 _If only_ isn't something Molly usually dwells on. Hypotheticals aside, there is always a world left for him to see, other people to meet, endless experiences to be had. There's always Yasha coming back to him, with or without the carnival. The loss of particular chances doesn't often occupy his mind.

But… 

If only being "married" to Caleb hadn't been so easy. If only he hadn't felt some kind of immense and immutable warmth every time Caleb took his hand like a long-time lover. If only some part of him didn't desperately want to revisit the easy comfort of a night in with a certain wizard.

Molly sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. Maybe he'll still get a chance with Caleb in the future. Nothing set in stone, and all that. For the moment, what he should do is take the ring off and put it out of his mind. No use stewing over it until Caleb is ready, at least. 

He doesn't take it off.

They pull off and camp beside the road, foregoing Caleb’s bubble for a temperate summer night under the stars. With everything clamoring around his head, Molly knows he won’t sleep anytime soon, so he volunteers for the first watch and then takes Yasha’s hand to go search for firewood. 

“Molly,” she says with endless patience, even as he stacks more sticks and twigs in her arms, “you know you should just tell him, right? Caleb is very fond of you. I don’t think it will go badly if you just… let him know.” 

“This is _Caleb_ , though,” Molly says in despair. He kicks half-heartedly at some undergrowth. “He’s… skittish. And I don’t want to just—he’s worth a lot more than just shrugging it off if he doesn’t feel the same way, Yash. I’ve never actually tried this before.” 

Yasha bumps her shoulder gently into his. “You’ll never know unless you give him a chance,” she says. “I think you’ll… well, I think it’s worth a shot.” She leans over and drops a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Yasha,” Molly sighs, “I will follow your advice, because I know that you love me and that you will run away with me if this goes horribly wrong and I can never look at Caleb again. Right?”

“Deal.”

It’s not until he gets back to camp to find everyone else bedded down for the night that Molly realizes he’s been set up. Yasha dumps their collected firewood off right next to _Caleb_ , the only person still sitting around the little fire pit. She pats Molly on the shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself, and heads off to her tent. 

A not-quite-awkward quiet settles over the two of them as the night grows darker and their friends drop off to sleep. It’s not quite the privacy they had back at their fancy accommodations, but it feels better in its own way. Molly likes being able to keep tabs on his people. They’re a weird little family, this group, but they look after each other. He likes having them around. Plus he did end up stealing a pillow from that place, so he has that to look forward to at the end of his watch. 

He keeps thinking about what Yasha said, about everything that he feels for Caleb. Halfway through their watch, he catches himself twisting that ring over and over around his finger, and forces himself to stop. Leaning back on his hands, he releases a long breath up towards the star-strewn sky. 

“Molly,” Caleb breaks the silence between them. “I have an interest in continuing our game.”

Surprised, Molly lowers his gaze. Gods, but Caleb is unfairly gorgeous in the moonlight and firelight. The low visibility has made him bolder, too, it seems—or else he’s just decided to be confident now, as he turns to face Molly squarely. “Which one do you mean?”

“The one where we tell each other one good thing.” Caleb clasps his hands together, his fingers twisting around each other. “One thing that—that we like, or we are proud of.” 

“Sure, I’m game.” Molly smiles. Caleb looks somewhere between skittish and determined, and he just hopes he’ll stay. “Did you have something in mind, or—” 

“Yes.” 

Caleb takes a deep breath, and Molly bites his lip to keep quiet while he waits. Nerves bubble in his chest, but he can’t tell if he’s waiting for a happy feeling or a bad one. He’s never felt like this before, really. It’s new territory, but maybe Yasha’s right. And Molly has never been one to shy away from new experiences. 

“I have been thinking, and admittedly it has taken me a while,” Caleb begins, his voice soft over the sounds of the night around them. “But these last few days, especially. I have thought—” He sighs abruptly, and runs his hand through his hair. “In this, I am not good with words, Mollymauk, but there is something that I want to tell you. And I think it could be a good thing about me, or… a good thing that I could share.” 

He looks up, and Molly is struck silent by the silvery-blue glint of moonlight in his eyes. “Specifically that I could share with you. I have found that I care for you, Mollymauk, and that is a thing I am—slowly, perhaps, but I am learning to be proud of that. Or—or be _happy_ with that, which is better, and… I am not as experienced in being happy with something. But, I would like to try, for real, if—if you feel the same. Which I hope you do. After all of this.” He closes his mouth abruptly, and swallows hard.

For a moment, there’s only quiet between them. Molly is short of breath, and flooded with too many words, so many ways he wants to say yes that his lips won’t pick one to just _say_ out loud. Caleb’s eyes start to drop, his face closing off from that beautiful brave openness, and Molly makes himself reach out and place his hand over Caleb’s.

“Me, too,” he finally manages, and it’s not exactly the grand declaration he had in mind, but fuck it. It brings a smile to Caleb’s face, one that starts hesitant but blooms into something shy and lovely that Molly wants to see every day. He scoots closer to Caleb, slowly lacing their fingers together. Caleb’s hand is just as warm and solid as it was when they were married.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” Molly admits, “just a few nights, or cons, things like that. But I’m… I’m with you on this. I want to try it, too. For real. I _like_ you—I liked being with you, even though we had to pretend. I’d like to see what being together with you is really like.” 

He squeezes Caleb’t hand carefully, and feels a reassuring squeeze right back. Just one little gesture is on its way to familiar already, and it fills Molly with a light and heady kind of bravery. “You know, there’s one thing we never actually got around to as a married couple,” he says. “So, well… is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” 

“Mollymauk,” Caleb laughs, so close and warm and _glad_ that he takes Molly’s breath away, “let me...” 

And then Caleb’s lips press against his, warm and chapped and unbearably soft. Molly’s chest feels tight and full at the same time, like there’s no more room for another drop of warmth and thrill. He kisses back, light but sure, so sure that this soaring feeling in his heart is one he wants to chase for miles, for years. Caleb’s hand slides into his hair, and he tilts his head and goes gladly into a second kiss, and third, and loses count in the heady slide of Caleb’s lips against his. 

They come apart slowly, Molly stealing one last soft kiss before he settles his forehead against Caleb's. "I'd like to take you on a date," he says, "next town we stop in. Just you and me, absolutely no contests, and we'll have to see if we can shake our nosy friends. But I say we give it a go." 

"I like the sound of that," Caleb smiles. He pulls away, but he lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Molly's fingers. It's a familiar gesture by now, made new and all the more exciting because there's no one around to show off for—it's just them, and Caleb still kisses his hand just because. "For now, our watch is not quite up, but… is this alright?" 

He squeezes Molly's hand. Molly lets his tail curl happily behind him, not even trying to contain his delight. 

“More than alright, Mister Caleb.” Molly grins up at the moons, and keeps a little thanks in his mind for the warmth of Caleb’s hand in his and the soft summer night around them. “More than alright.”


End file.
